About Family
by NorthernGirl
Summary: Missing scenes from 3.10. Meredith contemplates her dysfunctional family. Meredith Addison friendship as well. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Don't own it.

A/N: This really is a missing scene piece from 3.10, one rewritten scene and a missing one I guess. Starts off in the OR when Meredith asks what she should tell Molly.

"So what should I tell Molly?" Meredith worriedly asked Dr. Montgomery, not taking her eyes off the premature baby.

"I don't know!" Dr. Montgomery snapped back at her. Shocked at the tone that Dr. Montgomery had addressed her, Meredith stood still for a second. Not taking her eyes off the baby, she started murmuring to herself, trying to justify to herself _why_. Why she froze when seeing the lifeless body of this little girl who in another time she may have considered her niece, why this baby had to make it.

"Today my Mom told me that she regretted ever having me. That she never wanted a kid, that I was the reason she was, _is_, so miserable. And the sad thing is she just confirmed what I always knew. This little girl has to make it. She already has more than I ever did. They love her. She _has_ to make it." Feeling marginally better, Meredith turned to go tell Molly and Susan whatever lie she could think of in the short walk from the OR room to the room that they were occupying.

"Dr. Grey!" She heard Dr. Montgomery call her. Turning around, she met Dr. Montgomery's eyes briefly, and read the look of sympathy, instantly knowing that Addison had heard her, knowing that now Addison of all people knew how dark and twisty she really was. Dropping her gaze to the floor she replied,

"Dr. Montgomery?"

"Tell them that I'm doing the best I can, and I should be done in a couple of hours."

"Yes Dr. Montgomery." And with that she left, feeling the sympathetic gaze of her now boyfriend's very recent ex-wife boring a hole in her back.

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If you caught her in a moment of honesty, she would tell you that right now, this moment, was the reason she chose her specialty. This moment, when you gave the baby to their mom, to their family, to see their joy radiating out of every pore, too much to contain, this was why she was the Gyno-queen. It was worth the lost babies, the preemie's, the neglected ones, all of it to see their faces light up. And for that one brief moment in time, she forgot. She forgot that she was an adulterous bitch, forgot that her nickname was Satan, forgot about the entire last year, forgot about the lusty intern, and the panties. With their joy, she too was happy.

When she gave Laura to Molly and Susan for the first time she was experiencing this rush like always, but was also peripherally aware of Meredith timidly standing in the background, pretending to do charts, but looking at the family with a look of longing on her face. She saw Susan turn, and heard what Susan said to Meredith. She saw Meredith walk away, and was immediately reminded of a time not too long ago where Meredith was trying so hard to prove to everybody that she was fine, that it didn't bother her that the guy she was dating had a wife that he didn't tell her about, and then left her for said wife. Trying to prove to everybody that she was fine even when her mother was ranting in the halls and her father showed up unexpectedly with a family she never knew about. Oh yes, she recognized the determination in her step, just slightly short of a run. Recognized the purposeful straightening of the shoulders to hide the dejected slump. She also saw Susan re-enter the room, and give her a rueful smile, before turning attention back to her daughter and granddaughter, brushing off the incident like it was nothing. Murmuring quietly that she'd be back shortly, Addison left the room, not quite believing herself that she was in search of her recent ex-husband's current girlfriend, none other than Meredith Grey.

In sheer cowardness, Addison first checked all the on-call rooms on the floor. She knew that the chances of Meredith hiding in one were slim to none - if only for the reason that if she was found by any doctor or nurse, her presence there would be difficult to justifiably explain, as her shift was almost over. And the whole point of running was to not be found. But she checked anyway, continually asking herself why exactly she felt compelled to confront and comfort Meredith. Finally her feet led her to the storage room. The one that was whispered about last year, that all the nurses made sure she knew that her husband had followed a distraught looking Meredith after she had to take her patient off life support, only to emerge with bloodshot eyes, and a calm demeanour. Ironically, it was also the storage room where more recently Meredith had seen her in her own little breakdown, hiding from the whispers and the truth that her marriage of 11 years was most definitely over. Idly, Addison wondered if anybody else would find it amusing if the room was renamed 'Breakdown palace'. All these thoughts were brought to a halt when she heard faint sniffling coming from inside. Still not quite believing that she was about to do this - after all this time Meredith was not high on morphine, she would remember - she slowly pushed open the door, slipped inside, and closed the door before Meredith had even looked up. Thankful she was still in her scrubs (3 inch heels and designer closes were not conducive towards squatting on the floor) Addison silently scooted beside Meredith, not saying anything, just waiting.

Sensing that she was no longer alone, Meredith looked up and was shocked to see Dr. Montgomery, of all people, sitting beside her, to all appearances just there because she had nothing else to do. Panicked that she was about to get in trouble again, Meredith quickly wiped her face and stuttered out

"Dr. ... Dr. Montgomery! I'm sorry I was just..."

"I don't hate you, you know." Addison interrupted. Meredith quickly stopped her hasty attempt toescape. The shock on Meredith's face would have been comical if tears weren't still streaming down her face, and if they weren't in a storage room.

"What?"

"I don't hate you, you know. I've told you that once before."

"So then why…?" Meredith was understandably curious. Why then, exactly, did Addison Montgomery formerly Shepard follow her of all people in a storage room to console? What, exactly, drove her here? They never were friends, not when Addison first came, not when they pretended to be friends, and especially not after the prom. So then why? Was it Addison's mission in life to make her so freakin miserable so that she could never join the happy people? That seemed somewhat sadistic, even for Satan.

"I saw Susan talking to you. I saw you walk away. Sometimes you don't get to choose your family, Meredith. Sometimes they choose you." Addison gently stated. Instead of her words comforting Meredith, like she had intended, they seemed to goad and anger the younger woman.

"What, so you think that I should just forget everything and pretend they're my family? They're not, and they never will be."

"Just because you won't give them a chance!"

"No! And I'm not going to!" Addison was at a loss. She had always just observed Meredith from afar, being the wife and all, and she could tell that she had issues, but she was still surprised at the venom that was present, the anger and the tears. She didn't think that Meredith was capable of such a tone.

"May I ask why?" Throughout the whole conversation, both women had been staring resolutely forward, almost as if if they weren't looking at each other, it wasn't actually happening. The two weren't actually acting like friends, weren't actually straying from their assigned roles of scorned wife and dirty mistress as dictated by the culture that was Seattle Grace. But at Addison's question, Meredith turned. She looked straight at Addison, hoping to drive her point across. She was only going to say this once, admit it once, and Addison better get it, cause she sure as hell wasn't going to admit it again. Denial was Meredith's preferred state of existence. She was good at it, good at riding the ocean denial's swells. In a fierce whisper, she addressed the almost forgotten question.

"Thatcher left us when I was five. No note, no explanation, nothing. One morning he was there, the next he wasn't. I found out why later, but then, I didn't know. He left me. He left. He didn't fight for me, didn't tell me he was going, didn't explain why. Nobody did. So I thought it was because of me. He didn't love me enough, I wasn't good enough. Mom was never around, before or after. She was always busy being super surgeon, always taking the emergency surgery, always at the hospital. Thatcher was the one who was around. And when he left, that was the last time I had a Thanksgiving, the last time I had a Christmas, the last time my birthday was acknowledged, let alone celebrated. He left me, and I was alone. I didn't see him for twenty years. And then, when I did go and visit him last year, he didn't explain why, didn't have an explanation as to why he didn't fight for me, didn't explain the twenty year silence. I still wasn't enough. Then I find out that I have a sister. Not even from him, but from a comment in a casual conversation. Not just one sister, but two. One who is in med school, and one who is married. Both of whom Thatcher is so proud of, who cried at the wedding, who visits the med school. And he has a wife who is at her daughter's side, who comforts her all the time. And it is her - his wife who quite obviously resents us - it is _her_ who says I can be part of their family. Like now that they are all happy, that circumstance brought them to this hospital, they can finally acknowledge my existence. Like I'm some abused animal that is pathetically happy when I get some attention. Like it makes up for the years of neglect and loneliness. It doesn't work that way. And it wasn't even Thatcher who said it. It was _her_, not him. I don't want their pity; don't want them to have the satisfaction thinking that they're making up for not being there, for leaving. So I'm left with a mother who doesn't recognize me, never knew anything about me, and who resents my very existence. So yes, Dr. Montgomery, I am _perfectly_ aware that you don't get to choose your family. But I have to. My family is this hospital. The people here, the ones who gave me a Thanksgiving, who were overzealous in Christmas festivities, who acknowledged my birthday, who stood beside me, _they_ are my family." Meredith stopped abruptly, surprised at the words that spewed out of her mouth like word vomit. When there was no immediate reaction from the woman sitting beside her, she turned her head again, re-evaluating the thread count of the linens in front of her, which was proving to be difficult due to the tears leaking out of her eyes.

Slowly, Addison recovered from her shock that Meredith had actually told her that. Had actually told her about her dark and twisty self, about her dark and twisty family. And when this realization started to sink in, so did the awe and respect she had for this woman. She didn't hate her. In fact, Addison admired her, her quiet strength, her mettle that made her tough. Addison was speechless for once, and glad that she didn't have to hate Meredith anymore.

"I don't hate you, you know." Addison repeated, sympathetically this time. It was the only thing that she could think of to say after that, the only thing that may be accepted as an apology, as an explanation by Meredith. Keeping her gaze forward, Addison extended an arm, and gave Meredith a sideways hug, both surprised at how inawkward the moment was. Meredith dropped her head onto Addison's shoulder, and the two sat in comfortable silence. Time passed, although neither knew how much. When the tears ceased, Meredith sat up with a little sigh, and wiped her cheeks. Looking Addison in the eye for the first time, she whispered

"Thanks, Addison." A slow smile spread across Addison's face, and soon Meredith was smiling as well. Addison stood up, and extending a hand to Meredith helped her up as well. Both women exited the storage room, knowing that their moment would never be talked about, never acknowledged again, but that they had reached an understanding, that now they could truly call the other friend.

_End_


End file.
